


New Perspective

by bananapudding



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Aftercare, Explicit Consent, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Exchange, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 19:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19837078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananapudding/pseuds/bananapudding
Summary: In which Nobunaga loves the new and exciting, and Okita becomes very good at tying knots.





	New Perspective

Okita tries to disguise the faint tremble in her fingers as the normal fumble that comes with certain finer motor skills. She’s tied knots before, of course. Most people have. Just never such complex ones, and never so carefully. After all, she’s never had to worry about bruising anything she’s bound before.

Nobunaga kneels in front of her on the bed, head forward and hair drawn over one shoulder. She's as bare as Okita herself is, a web of thin red rope pulled flush to her skin. Okita has both of Nobunaga’s arms held behind her to wind the rope around and between them and secure the finishing knots. There’s the temptation to stare, to still her hands and rake her eyes over Nobunaga’s open back, but she doesn’t. She keeps her unsteady fingers moving until she’s certain that she’s done, and then she lowers Nobunaga’s arms with a sigh.

“Alright. I’m pretty sure I got it.”

Nobunaga had been unusually passive for the past few minutes, but when Okita speaks again her head lifts, the motion sharp. “Ah, finally. I was just starting to get bored.”

“I was taking my time to make sure I did it right,” Okita huffs. “Anyway, does it feel okay? Is it too tight anywhere, or uncomfortable, or…?”

“Your concern is cute,” Nobunaga says, as if concern shouldn’t be the standard when it comes to these sorts of things. She shifts her weight around a bit, one knee to the other, and tests the strength of the knots. “It’s unnecessary, though. You did pretty good! Functionally, at least. Let me see if you got the aesthetics right.”

Okita rolls her eyes and retrieves a flat, head-sized mirror that Nobunaga had insisted she have on hand, because only someone like Nobunaga would care what the end result looks like. She holds it up for Nobunaga to observe, slowly panning it up and down. Nobunaga’s gaze follows it with a rapt curiosity, body arching, twisting, knees planting themselves farther apart on the mattress so that she can better view whatever part of herself is reflected. It’s a demonstration so shameless that it warms Okita’s cheeks.

“Well, well, well. Not too shabby for a first try.” Nobunaga pushes her chest out, tilts her chin up, and leans back to force more of her into the mirror’s frame. “What do you think, Okita? How do I look?”

_Beautiful_ , Okita can't help thinking. Nobunaga is often beautiful in those rare moments when she's calmer, but now especially so. It isn't just the fact that she's stripped down, nearly every inch of ivory skin exposed, because Okita has seen her that way plenty of times. It isn't even the rope patterns decorating her torso and binding her calves to her thighs. It's something about the way that she carries herself even now, the glint in her bright red eyes and the not-so-subtle arch in her spine. The way she holds her head betrays untarnished confidence, a love for herself that most could never emulate. 

“Ah, you… it looks nice,” she settles on.

Nobunaga tosses her head a bit and straightens. Dark waves of her hair spill over her shoulder and into her eyes with the movement. “What kind of lukewarm answer is that?”

“Well—!” Okita’s tongue wobbles over her words. She doesn’t know what Nobunaga was expecting, but she amends, “It’s a good look. Not that you aren’t usually pretty, but, um. Yeah.”

Nobunaga grins wide and toothy. “Feeling shy, Okita?”

Okita doesn’t meet her eyes. “I think most people would be in this situation.”

“Really? I would think that most people who see a naked girl tied up wouldn’t be able to control themselves.” Her tongue glides out over her lips, slow and conspicuous. “After all, you could do whatever you wanted to someone like this, you know?”

“I’m not a _fiend_ ,” Okita says, nose crinkling.

What she doesn’t say is that even now, physically restrained as she is, Nobunaga has not submitted. Never once has she given the impression that she isn’t still the one in control, somehow. That’s what makes it so strange that she’d volunteered herself for something like this in the first place.

“No, you’re not,” Nobunaga agrees. “That’s why I’m extending an invitation here. I mean, unless you want to sit there and stare at me all night. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“You’re…” Okita trails off with a shake of her head. She moves the mirror aside and draws closer, hands coming to rest tentatively on Nobunaga’s thighs. There are a lot of ways she could complete that sentence, some less flattering than others. She decides, “You’re something else.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nobunaga laughs.

Even Okita isn’t really sure what it’s supposed to mean, so she says, “It means that you need to be quiet.”

She’s sure to quiet Nobunaga herself with a hard press of her lips. Nobunaga is receptive, muscles and mouth alike slack, open. When she reciprocates the kiss it’s not with the usual force. Instead, it’s hungry. It’s warm, wanting, tongue clumsy on teeth, on the roof of Okita’s mouth, tasting everything but taking nothing. It’s unusual for someone who loves like wildfire, harsh and all-consuming, but Okita can’t complain. She tilts her head into it, lets their tongues twine, lets her weight bring her body closer.

Her hands slide up to cup Nobunaga's hips. They remain there, pressing, feeling the way Nobunaga's smooth skin rises between the gaps in her fingers. A small, impatient noise vibrates against her lips at this. Okita is in no hurry, though. She rolls her thumbs over lines of bone beneath muscle, squeezes until she's met with a frustrated puff.

When she feels teeth prick at her lower lip, Okita pulls back, hands still and brows drawn. “What, getting restless, now?”

“Well, can you blame me?” Nobunaga shrugs her weight back and forth again. “This is the first time I've gotten touched by a pretty girl and wasn't able to touch her back.”

Okita runs her thumb slowly back and forth over an edge of rope, unimpressed. “So you've never learned the concept of restraint, then.”

“Oh, come on. It's not as if you're any better than I am when it comes to this sort of thing.”

“I can contain myself just fine, thank you,” Okita says. Nobunaga’s brows lift dubiously, and Okita’s tongue stumbles over a “Don't give me that look!”

That causes her to break into a snicker. “Well, maybe you are onto something. I could offer to tie you up next time, but I'm not sure if I’d even need to. You seem like the kind of girl who’d hold still just because you're to-ooowch!”

Okita cuts Nobunaga off by giving one of her nipples a hard tug. Her other hand moves up to knead the opposite breast, but she keeps her eyes on Nobunaga’s face as she says, “You're not really in a position to be saying those kinds of things.”

To her credit, Nobunaga recovers her composure fast. “My position has never kept me from saying whatever I want.”

“Then this one will,” Okita says.

“Oh?” Nobunaga cocks an eyebrow. “Just what are you gonna do to shut me up, hm?”

It’s bait, but Okita takes it, if only so that she doesn’t have to come up with a verbal answer. She kisses Nobunaga again and this time she’s at least half teeth to match tongue and still Nobunaga doesn’t fight her, only pressing back as though to beckon. It’s new, and it’s pleasant. Okita is tempted to linger there, but her lungs won’t let her, so she draws her mouth away in favor of kissing a sheen onto Nobunaga’s jawline instead.

Her hands continue to squeeze Nobunaga’s breasts, not the least bit gentle because she knows she can afford not to be. If the sighs she makes when her nipples get caught between Okita’s fingers are anything to go by, Nobunaga likes being groped. This isn’t a new development, but it’s not something that Okita has ever been able to take advantage of like this. She’s never been given this much freedom to touch wherever and for however long she pleased without Nobunaga growing bored and attempting to wrest control from her.

A short rush of heat surges down Okita’s spine and settles below her gut. Yes, Nobunaga has no control over the situation now, strictly speaking. If told to stop, Okita would, but on a physical level there is nothing Nobunaga can do but sit and receive.

So Okita gives. She gives short kisses down the length of Nobunaga’s neck, then gives bites to the plane above her collarbone. With the amount of clothing Nobunaga normally wears, she’s never had any qualms about leaving marks. Empowered by the knowledge that she can effectively do whatever she wants, Okita sucks the skin different shades of red and purple, working around stretches of rope until she’s nearly face-to-face with Nobunaga’s chest. At that point, she stops only to move one hand so that she can replace it with her mouth.

Nobunaga’s fidgeting now, breathing uneven. She’s never been good at staying still for too long. It’s a miracle she’s kept her mouth shut for so long, too, and Okita can’t say she’s surprised when she hears her ask, “Isn’t this a little long to spend on foreplay?”

With a parting lick to Nobunaga’s breast, Okita pulls back to say, “I thought I told you to stay quiet.”

“And you thought I’d listen?”

Okita scowls. In retaliation, she closes her teeth around a nipple, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to make Nobunaga gasp in pain. Idly, she reaches to rub the area right after as though to soothe it, but as she lets her opposite hand trail down to Nobunaga’s thigh and feels it quivering, she knows: Nobunaga enjoyed that. She _is_ enjoying this.

“This isn't too long for foreplay at all,” Okita answers belatedly. “You just think that because you're impatient and never want to spend much time on it. Besides…” The hand on Nobunaga’s thigh slides inward and then down, fingers stroking, testing, only to come away slick. “You seem to be liking it just fine.”

Nobunaga twitches. “Hey now, that isn't fair,” she says around half a smile. “You're interpreting it all wrong. I'm only worked up because I don't like waiting. You should know that about me by now.”

“Of course I know. You've never been patient.” Okita notes the way Nobunaga’s hips squirm and pointedly draws her hand farther back. “I could make you wait longer, you know.”

“Would you, though?” Nobunaga’s eyes dart up and down Okita’s body. “You're looking pretty excited, yourself.”

Flushing, Okita resists the urge to close her own legs. She should've known, really, that letting Nobunaga speak so freely could only create a circular conversation, one that inevitably comes back to embarrass her.

Irritated, she says, “I don't need you for that. I could just leave you here and find something else to do.”

“Eh?” Nobunaga blinks, then squints at her. “You wouldn't do that. That’d be cruel even for you.”

“Care to try me?” Okita asks. When Nobunaga continues to evaluate her silently, she begins to scoot back. “Oh, you're right that I wouldn't leave you here for too long. I think about an hour—”

“Hey, hey, hey! Let's not—” Nobunaga lurches slightly, as though she intended to move but forgot she's bound. She fixes her wide eyes on Okita, posture now tense, smile laced with nerves. “Fine, fine! You don't need to go that far, sheesh. I’ll be quiet. Pinky promise!”

Okita arches a brow. She hadn't expected Nobunaga to cave that quickly. Perhaps that, too, is a result of her impatience. There is nothing Nobunaga hates more than being bored.

“Better,” she decides, drawing herself close again. Her hand slots itself between Nobunaga’s thighs again, now seeking and circling her clit. She flicks it once with her thumb, and Nobunaga’s shoulders slacken, head dropping into the crook of Okita’s neck with a dramatic sigh. It’s a reaction that almost catches Okita off-guard, but she doesn’t stop the steady rolling motions of her fingers.

“See, that’s not too hard, is it?” she asks, not expecting an answer. “You know, this is a nice change of pace, actually. I wish I’d known earlier it’d be this easy to shut you up for a few minutes.”

Nobunaga grunts. Okita can sense that she wants to say something, but is biting it back like she thinks Okita will make good on her threat, like she thinks Okita’s touching is worth all of her teasing. It’s almost as awe-inspiring as the fact that she allowed herself to become so vulnerable in the first place.

Okita puzzles idly over that. She turns the question over in her head, wondering if the answer can be found in Nobunaga’s increasingly ragged breaths or the noticeable quaking of her legs. One finger slides down, around, then into her. Her body is as relaxed and accepting as her mouth was minutes ago, so it’s not hard to add one more digit and curl both inwards to make her clench. Perhaps it’s the novelty of the situation that excites her so much. Okita isn’t sure how to wrap her head around any other possibility.

Nobunaga likes to have control. She’s aware that she can’t have it over everything, but she will take it wherever possible, and if she can’t take it without argument then she’ll fight for it. It’s the way that she’s always been, regardless of the circumstances. Whenever they sleep together, if Nobunaga doesn’t immediately establish that she’s taking the lead, she’ll make a show of prying it from Okita’s hands.

_I just felt like trying something new_ , was what she’d said when pressed for her reasoning earlier. New is exciting to her, after all, and Nobunaga craves constant excitement.

“You’ve never let anyone else do anything like this,” Okita says suddenly, like it just dawned on her. Nobunaga makes another noise, muffled into Okita’s skin, as Okita works her fingers in and out. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d gotten other women in this position before. Did you always wonder what it would be like to be on the receiving end, then?” She isn’t sure why she’s carrying on a conversation with someone she knows won’t respond with anything but strained, breathy sounds. Maybe it’s the absence of anything but those sounds that drives her forward, continuing, “How does it feel? You might be more suited to this than you thought.”

Nobunaga tightens around Okita and breathes hard through her teeth. “Okita—”

“Don’t say any more than that,” Okita warns, hooking her fingers again. “You can say my name, and only my name.”

“Ah, fuck,” Nobunaga says, hoarse, something unnameable in her voice, “Okita…”

She sounds frustrated, but not angry. Her behavior is tempered, but not docile. She moans, quietly but so loud to Okita’s ears because never is she so noisy, and stifles herself by sinking her teeth into Okita’s shoulder.

The pain cuts through the heat muddling Okita’s head and spreading through her own stomach, but she still doesn’t waver. She’s used to Nobunaga’s biting, after all. She secures a grip on Nobunaga’s hip, pulls her closer, and fucks her all the harder on her fingers, feeling her tremble apart around her thread by thread, feeling her own wrist start to ache. It’s only when Okita presses the heel of her palm down on Nobunaga’s clit that the burning of her teeth subsides, jaws releasing to leave pinprick bruises in their wake.

Okita takes advantage of this. Her free hand weaves into Nobunaga’s hair, curls tender fingers near the base of her neck and pulls to force her head back. Nobunaga gasps, but doesn’t fight it, doesn’t struggle to turn her face away when Okita stares.

She can call to mind many instances where she’s seen Nobunaga unwound, absorbed in sensations that only Okita can give. It’s never been like this. Even if Nobunaga cannot have control over others, she will never relinquish her control over herself. She is a proud person. Okita hasn’t witnessed her in a state where she doesn’t look entirely present at all: face red, eyes glazed and unfocused, lips parted and glossy enough to kiss. She doesn’t kiss her, though. Something stops her, something like wonder at the sight of her like this, bare and quivering and fit to crumble at any moment.

No one has ever gotten to see Nobunaga like this, probably. No one, she realizes, has ever been trusted by Nobunaga like this.

She slides her fingers out to focus them on Nobunaga’s clit instead, rubbing back and forth in short, almost frenzied movements. Nobunaga jolts, legs wobbling, the breath hissing out of her. Her hips rock into the contact with equal fervor and even greater clumsiness, once, twice, something unintelligible on her lips. Possibly swearing, probably Okita’s name again. Her head tilts forward in Okita’s grip, enough to bump their temples together—a little too hard, but Okita pays the dull ache no mind, and Nobunaga doesn’t seem to care, either. She remains close, nose to Okita’s cheek, warm air on her jawline, voice inches from her ear.

From there, she doesn’t whisper sweet and sour nothings into the shell of Okita’s ear as she usually does. Okita doesn’t believe she’s able to. Certainly not, judging by the way her muscles spasm seconds later, spine arching, thighs pulling in close together around Okita’s hand.

Nobunaga doesn’t speak when she comes, no, but she does sing noises that Okita’s never heard leave her throat.

Okita runs her fingers in gradually slowing circles, coaxing the shudders out of Nobunaga until they’re no more than twitches. Nobunaga goes nearly limp, head falling to rest on the same spot she’d bitten. The minutes stretch out between them, filled with nothing but heavy, exhilarated panting.

Although still aroused, Okita has the presence of mind to realize that she doesn’t know what to do next. She doesn’t dare move, whether to make an advance or to retreat. She can only sit on her haunches, waiting for Nobunaga to regain her senses.

“Hey. Untie me,” Nobunaga finally says. It’s quiet, but a clear demand nonetheless.

Okita doesn’t question it. She complies, fingers much less sure of themselves than they’d been when they touched Nobunaga. It takes a bit for her to work the ropes loose, but they fall away soon enough, leaving Nobunaga’s limbs free.

Nobunaga’s response is nearly instantaneous. Her hands fly to the sides of Okita’s face and pull her in, locking their lips together hard enough that their teeth nearly clash. After a few seconds spent stunned, Okita accepts it, head tilting to correct the awkward angle Nobunaga approached her at. Nobunaga is rough at first, mouth moving with something almost feverish, but eventually the motions mellow until she pulls away at last for air.

“Um, ah.” Okita gulps in her breath and takes a moment to recall how to use her lips to talk. “So, was that… uh, how was it?”

“Mm, not bad,” Nobunaga says with a lazy grin. “Weird. But not bad. It was a little uncomfortable to maintain that position, though.”

“Ah, right,” Okita says. Yes, surely that was the reason Nobunaga wanted to be freed so abruptly. The statement reminds Okita to pull back to get a better look at Nobunaga’s body, skimming over her skin to ensure her binds didn’t leave any lasting red marks. “You didn’t get rope burn or anything, right? And you’re not cramping anywhere?”

Nobunaga’s tongue clicks. “So fussy! I’m fine, though. My left leg kinda fell asleep, but I can keep going.”

“Keep going…? Oh.” Okita glances down, cheeks hot all over again.

“What, did you not want the favor returned?”

Okita does want the favor returned. The reminder of her arousal nearly makes it ache, but even so, something in her chest aches more. She’s always been sentimental, far more than Nobunaga, far more than she would like to admit. If there’s any instance where she’s allowed to be, it must be here, after she brought Nobunaga climax more raw and unfiltered than she’d probably ever had.

“Give it a few minutes,” Okita says, “at least until your leg wakes back up.” With that, she starts to recline, arms snaking around Nobunaga to tug her down with her. “Here, it’ll be more comfortable like this.”

“Hm? Oh, I guess.” Nobunaga lets herself lie pressed almost skin-to-skin with Okita, legs tangled loosely with hers. “What, did you tire yourself out or something? Is it ‘cause you’re not used to topping?”

“Shut up,” Okita grumbles. “I’m sure I could do it more often.”

“Right, if I let you.”

“You liked it when you let me this time, though.”

“Well, it was a nice change of pace, I’ll give you that much.” Nobunaga pats Okita’s biceps a couple times. “Alright, you did good, man-slayer.”

It seems like half-hearted praise, but Okita knows that it’s coming from somewhere genuine, a place stocked with attachments Nobunaga will rarely admit to in any serious way. Okita is fine with this. She knows that Nobunaga has been more than honest enough about the way she feels for the day.

She tucks her face close to Nobunaga, lips hovering near the marks peppered above her collarbone. There are faint pink grooves across her chest, too, from where she’d been bound. Okita knows that Nobunaga does not belong to her, not really, but the marks allow her to indulge in the temporary, selfish illusion that she does, in some manner of speaking.

“Hey, Nobu,” she mumbles, absently dragging her hands down through her soft locks again.

“Hm?”

“I love you, you know.”

Nobunaga doesn’t answer that, at first. Then she snorts. “What’re you getting all sappy for now? You didn’t even finish yet.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Okita says, exasperated. “I just feel like saying it sometimes. Don’t make me regret it.”

Nobunaga laughs at that, but it’s softer than usual. “I know,” she says. She peels herself away from Okita enough to look at her, enough to brush the stray wisps of hair out of her eyes and give her one more wet kiss on the lips. “I know you do,” she repeats, smug in a way that’s very like her and sweet in a way that’s not.

The closest Nobunaga gets to saying it back outright is a long while spent between Okita’s legs. Even for all of the sentiment that remains unspoken, Okita can’t find a reason to complain about that.


End file.
